


The Case Of The Notebook Murders

by Lothlorienne



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: also more characters to be added later, and hopefully some surprises for you when I dó diverge from that DN storyline, and yes people will die eventually, basically the DN storyline with SH characters, bonus points if you spot references to stuff, but with some smart alterations to make it all fit, might squeeze some sexytimes in there later but not the slashy Mormor kind - sorry to disappoint, rated mature because sometimes I have the tendency to swear, violence because psychopath + a goddamn death note are you kidding me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothlorienne/pseuds/Lothlorienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some would do anything to get rid of their boredom... And when a Shinigami drops his Death Note, something interesting is simply bound to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

_"From the one notebook lost in the human world by this Shinigami  
The grand battle between the two chosen ones begins."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me. I'm still figuring out how long the chapters should be, developing the storyline and pondering which characters are somewhat dispensable >:3 Might need to adapt the rating, archive warnings and relationships, since I'm not sure of anything yet atm. But I'm starting this anyway, because this crossover simply nééds to exist in my world, and I see it as a personal duty to write it.


	2. Chapter 2

He felt bored. So very bored. There was simply nothing of importance going on in his life, and Jim hated this. It had been this way for such a long time, and he was craving for something interesting to happen. And then something did.

Moriarty sighed. He hated this place and couldn’t understand why he kept coming here anyway. But at least it beat staying home to stare at the wall. Every now and then he would feel this need to escape those four walls, constantly shutting the world out but today more like closing him in. It made him uneasy at times. So every now and then, postponing the moment to leave the solitude of his flat, he’d go out to sit here for a while and take in the sensations of the outside world. Just like this. The sun broke through the dense roof of clouds. Moriarty could feel his face slowly warm as he leaned his head back a bit and tried to mentally shut out the noise of children playing and quarrelling. Briefly thought about retrieving the knife from his inner coat pocket to let the sharp blade kiss the skin of his forearms, pale and vulnerable underneath the layers, the map of blue veins streaming with life. A tedious life of disinterest. He’d cut his own skin – just to confuse them. To make an unsettled child look up at its mother as she gasps and reaches for a small hand, or to make a father frown (get some deep and ugly-looking lines of emotion on that happy-fucking-family-life face) as he takes off the cheap supermarket shades to ensure himself of what he is seeing. Jim would keep adding pressure to the blade, forcing it to go deeper and deeper despite the sweet risk of bleeding to death. Even if that’d happen, he’d find comfort in knowing he’d die with a blank expression of shock on their stupid faces and a smile on his.

Had he closed his eyes? Suddenly they flew open as a sound startled him, curtly putting an end to his daydreams. Damned, noisy outside world. All he wanted was some silence and time to breathe, was that really too much to ask for? Jim intended to glare at the source of his irritation, but couldn’t immediately find the sound’s origin… he was sitting on a somewhat isolated bench – the children loud yet more or less distant while their babbling parents usually kept close to the playground as well. He turned to look behind him – no straying individual, not a single person to be found on the sandy path in front or the green field stretched behind him. He tilted his head slowly now, eyes squinting. Where had the sound come – oh. Right next to him, lying on the wooden bench, was a small black book. Thin – a notebook? Feeling intrigued, he reached for it. Jim, being quite an observant person, knew full well that it hadn’t been there before. No, this was something completely new. The object seemed to have this aura of strangeness, yes, almost of extraterrestrial nature. As if this item wasn’t only new here, on a bench in a park on a sunny afternoon, but new _here_ , in this completely different way. New. Peculiar. It seemed like just the thing to relieve a man from his boredom.

He picked up the small book, feeling the leather-like texture of the cover as he turned it around. Jim quickly let his eyes flicker over the front: _"Death Note"_ , he noted, before curiously opening it. He noticed some of the pages were black. The first black page had writing on it. The other black pages were the same. Jim quickly leafed through the rest of the quaint little book – the ordinary pages were lined and blank. Back to the black ones then, to read the first page.

_Death Note_

_How to use it_

_The human whose name is written in this note shall die._

_This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person’s face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name…_

“What the actual fuck.”

He hadn’t spoken in a few days. The sound was nothing more than a low murmur, but it somehow drew someone’s attention. A woman in her thirties, dressed like she was still in her twenties, just passed by his bench while pushing a pram. She turned her head to look down at the man in the suit. “Excuse me?”

Jim sighed, without making the motion too obvious for her to see the irritation. He then looked up, flashing her the most gentle smile he had practised. “I asked you if I may perhaps borrow a pen.”

“Oh. Um, certainly! Hold on, I must have one in here somewhere…” she now started rummaging through her large diaper bag before making a pensive “hmmm” sound, after which she started going through her bum bag. Jim could feel a slight tremble in his lips, but further managed to keep the to him unusual facial expression under control. After some long seconds the woman finally found her pen and gave it to him. With a short “thanks”, that barely sounded genuine, he took it from her and the smile faded as he wrote down some random nouns – Jim had already concluded she most likely wouldn’t be able to read upside-down writing – before looking up at the woman again, with a renewed smile.

“Sorry, I do believe I’ve seen you here before. Have we met?”

She smiled back. He could almost hear her thoughts progressing. _“He’s not too shabby. Quite good-looking. Seems to have some money, too. Is he interested? Might as well give it a shot.”_

“Dennis Nilsen,” he smiled, slightly tilted his head in an attempt to get that puppy dog look some women seemed so fond of. It was one of the advantages of having big brown eyes.

“That sounds vaguely familiar... I'm Beth Davenport.” She leaned closer, obviously preparing to sit down next to him. Ugh.

“Well, Beth,” Jim quickly said, while scribbling something down without looking away from the woman’s face, “I’ll look forward to seeing you here again sometime.” The loud click of a pen, and then he was holding it out to her almost like a sword.

“Um. Yes. Yes, me too.” She took it from him and used the opportunity to let her fingers caress his briefly. Repulsive. She then walked away, hips swaying a tad more than before, looking over her shoulder just once to make sure he was still looking. Jim’s eyes were indeed fixed on her, but not for the reason she seemed to assume. He was waiting for it to happen, and held his breath while counting… but was quickly disappointed. Twenty-seven seconds and still nothing. The foolish female had now reached one of her friends and the two started chatting enthusiastically. Well, this had been a waste of time... But honestly, what had he expected? He had seen death often enough to know how people died – writing their names down in some notebook wouldn’t do anything, unless that one page he had written on would now shoot out and give the woman a paper cut of unprecedented proportions. He carelessly flung it aside and got up, walking off in the opposite direction. After just a few steps he heard a woman shrieking. He turned around just in time to see Beth's legs sway. Her left hand grabbed a hold of the handle of her stroller, but judging by the position of her right arm, she was also clutching something else – the fabric of her scarf perhaps, something in that general area. Then the woman’s hand slid off the handle. Jim didn’t blink once, taking it all in. Her body collapsed, bent in an almost graceful manner as she fell to the ground. How she didn’t even respond to the pain of hitting your head like that told Jim enough. She was done for. Probably dead already now. He wasn’t going to wait for the other woman to rush past the pram and check on her friend. On other days maybe he’d have considered staying in place to watch the spectacle, or even come closer to get a better look, but today there were more pressing matters that needed his further investigation. So he snatched the notebook from its place on the bench to let it slide between the smooth fabric of his jacket and his shirt before rushing off. The child in the stroller started crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hello! Update, lovely. So! This is the first real chapter, I suppose. Our first introduction to Jim and the Death Note. This also gives you a general idea of the length of my chapters. I don't really have much time to write, and will usually keep them more or less this long. Whether that's a good or a a bad thing isn't for me to say ;]
> 
> Don't know when the next chapter will be up... the next two weeks will be even more busy than usual, Uni is being a bitch, giving me too much work, while Tumblr is being too nice, taking up way too much of my spare time.
> 
> I listened to a DN soundtrack while writing this chapter. I love Near's theme. Reversed.
> 
> Edited this later and changed her name to Beth because that makes her one of the first victims in ASIP. Hurr hurr hurr she's never gonna be mentioned again so who gives a toss really.


	3. Chapter 3

He tried to keep his mind diverted while running, didn’t want to think of anything else but the constant rhythm of his feet and rapid breathing. His lungs started to hurt after a while, but he wouldn’t slow down. He was close to home anyway – Jim shared a flat just south of Regent’s Park. Even though he sometimes disliked this flat, he couldn’t stand being away from it for too long and enjoyed that feeling of safety he got by closing and locking the door behind him. It wasn’t until he had done exactly that when Jim felt like he could breathe properly again – a bit of a paradox, considering the fact that he was panting heavily. He felt like just walking straight to his bedroom to get that extra layer of protection, perhaps even hide underneath his sheets for a while and become a complete Matryoshka doll of safety, but his flatmate’s voice stopped him, beckoning him.

A bit reluctant, Jim made his way to the living room. Once there he spotted his friend Sebastian, who just closed the door to the balcony. A thin ribbon of smoke rose from the ashtray outside.

“You okay? I saw you running down the street just now. I even shouted, but you didn’t seem to hear me. Which seemed a bit… odd.”

“I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine.”

Seb tilted his head. Jim decided to ignore it, muttered something about taking a shower before he turned back round and rushed to his own rooms. Quickly took off all his clothes and threw them on the bed. He handled the strange notebook with care and decided to hide it in his wardrobe, at least for now. Gently lay it on some boxes, neatly and parallel. As he straightened his back he couldn’t look away from the mysterious object, how sinister and ominous its dark colour contrasted with the creamy hue of the box it was lying on top of. Touching it only with the tips of his index fingers, Jim shoved the box to the far back of the wardrobe before closing its doors. He took a step back and stood there for a while, almost like in trance. Then he shook his head and locked both the bedroom door and the door to his en suite bathroom. He needed some time to think now, and didn’t want anyone knocking on his door. How was he supposed to handle this situation?

Meanwhile, surprisingly close to these events…

It was just an average day in 221B – one resident was busy reading the newspaper while the other lay stretched out on the sofa – when someone rang their doorbell. Mrs Hudson let the visitor in, and only a few moments later John’s friend Sarah was standing in their doorway, panting and with reddened eyes. “Oh, John…” she stammered. “Something terrible has just happened…” The man she had addressed quickly put down his newspaper, his expression flabbergasted yet concerned. The other man had already deduced that this was an emotional matter and ostentatiously turned his back to the room, not interested in the occurrence whatsoever. In the meanwhile John had gotten up to give Sarah a comforting hug. He led her back to the seat he had occupied and offered to make her a cup of tea, which she refused.

“Oh, it really is dreadful…” she moaned. “I was at the park with some of the girls from work, you know, just a casual get-together, a few brought their kids with them…” She paused to blow her nose. “And I was talking to Beth when she suddenly just – collapsed. Heart attack. It all happened very sudden. Oh, and poor little Thierry, she had brought him with her…”

Jim unlocked the door again and walked over to his wardrobe to pick something out – without looking down, of course. Nothing fancy. Just something comfortable to hang around the house with, a shirt and some baggy jogging trousers. The cotton felt wonderful against his still slightly damp skin. Felt fresh, born again. He now made his way back to the living room. His flatmate was sitting on the leather sofa, watching a film while cleaning his gun. Some of the smaller parts were laid out on the coffee table. Jim recognised the film in an instant and smiled approvingly.

“I see you’re going through the list I suggested.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good so far. She’s going to castrate him. Even takes the trouble to film it so he can have a proper look at the operation.”

“And that’s not even the best part,’ Jim answered. ‘Are you taking notes, by the way?”

Seb nodded at the small blocnote lying next to the gun components.

“Lovely. Want to share some lasagne?” Without even waiting for the answer, Jim turned to the kitchen and popped a meal in the microwave before joining Seb on the couch. He picked up the note and smiled. Seb had jotted down the words _torture – music too loud, headphones, duct tape_ and underneath that _plastic wrap – saving money on chloroform?_ “Good, good.” He looked up in time to see a man bound to a table, telling some random story of his childhood. “See how beautifully purple his hands are getting?” Jim pointed out. “How the colour almost matches his shirt? And the rest of him, so grim and pale… Colour is an important part of this film, you know.” Seb grinned while the antagonist ignored whatever the man was saying and put on a pair of rubber gloves. Her victim’s pleading only annoyed her. When the man screamed “anything, piss on me, fucking feed me glass, I don’t care, do whatever you want”, Seb turned to face Jim and asked “Ooh, glass, have we done that yet?” Jim only needed to tilt his head and smile to make Seb pick up the blocnote and write some more ideas down. He looked back up to see the bound man struggle. “Oh, look at him,” Seb commented, “that’s nice. Some fine acting. Nothing beats the real thing, though, does it.” Jim hummed, agreeing, but Seb had more to say. “That girl reminds me a bit of you, by the way… I think it’s because of the eyes. Even though she’s just acting, she gets that evil look spot-on, every now and then. Creeps me out, frankly speaking.” At that moment, the microwave beeped, and Jim got up to fetch them their dinner, some plates, cutlery and drinks. He got back just in time to hear the evil young woman say something about grinding testicles up in the garbage disposal. Seb smiled gratefully and took a first bite of lasagne as they heard a wonderful, gurgling sound.

Sherlock remained quiet during the entire visit. More than two hours and three cups of tea later John finally got rid of Sarah (who did seem, that he had to admit, to be doing better after the long talk). John went downstairs with her to say goodbye on the treshold – a hug, not a kiss – and then came back up, closing the door behind him and staying there. Sherlock could almost feel John’s eyes on his back, but waited patiently for his flatmate to speak up first.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You didn’t move an inch this entire time. And don’t tell me you fell asleep, because I know you won’t need to anytime soon. Anything suspicious?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock started a half-hearted writhing until he ended up lying on his back. “Just a normal heart-attack, John. Those things happen. No use to blame it on anything suspicious. Or God. Or some evil force. That’s just the way of life.”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to get all philosophical. I was just wondering why you stayed-”

“Collecting information, John. Though I couldn’t deduce anything new from you two. Will probably try to delete this soon enough.” He stretched. “Now, tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know - I spent a ridiculous amount of research in this.
> 
> I decided to determine some locations, and started looking for the right London park for the events in the previous chapter - randomly chose Regent's Park. Then started looking for a good apartment nearby and by pure coincidence stumbled upon a fairly new and modern one that is eerily close to Baker Street - according to Google Earth and Streetview, it's basically right between the park and 221B (if you pinpoint the Sherlock Holmes museum as that location - there were way too many 221B's on the map imo).  
> So in case you want some background info and pictures, this is where Jim and Seb live: www.7allsopplace.com . Number 24, the one on the fourth floor, kind of north from the one-bedroom apartment. Yes, I was quite thorough. This was the flat I found on the Foxtons website, and I based any references in my text on their information.
> 
> Also, I discovered Babushkas are actually called Matryoshkas. Ofc Jim would know this already.
> 
> I wonder if you all notice the small references to the original works in this, by the way...
> 
> Ooh, I also spent time watching Hard Candy while taking (Seb's) notes, figured out how long it takes to prepare a microwave lasagne (eight minutes, according to my own collection of microwave food) and how much of the film someone would be able to see in that time span. Because I take this too damn serious.


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks later Sherlock still hadn’t deleted that information. Quite the contrary: he had managed to slowly gather more data over time. He was currently sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, with papers, photographs and various documents concerning three different cases scattered all around him. John gingerly made his way to the detective, carrying two cups of tea. Some papers were moved around before he could set the biggest mug down, and John took the smaller cup with him to the sofa to survey the paper landscape. He enjoyed his tea and let his flatmate work for a bit before inquiring.

“So, how’s the investigation going?”

Sherlock picked up a clipboard to jot down a few words before taking a small mental break. Without suppressing a groan he unfurled his legs, stretched his long limbs and allowed his tense posture to sag a bit before finally turning to his flatmate. Without even looking, his fingers reached for the mug.

“Fine, fine. Nothing new, though. There’s not much there to find, but at least I’ve had the chance to cross out a few assumptions. Now we can be absolutely sure of this bit of clarity we have managed to gather.”

“So what have we got?”

Sherlock brought the mug to his lips and emptied its content in twelve efficient gulps, then tossed it and stood up to get a better view on the scenery of information that only he could possibly see any type of order in.

“Jeffrey Patterson, fifty-one, businessman, wife but no children, body found in an empty car park,” he answered, making vague gestures to various scraps of paper in the sea of words on their living room floor. “James Phillimore, eighteen, student, found at Norbridge Sports Centre; and Jennifer Wilson, thirty-two, media figure and tourist, found in an abandoned building.”

“The common element being they all died of a heart attack,” John nodded.

“Not just that. They were all found in places they had no reason to be, none of them had ever shown any prior indication of cardiovascular issues – and something just seems off.”

That’s when John noticed a group picture. He had a closer look at it before holding it up for Sherlock to see. “A picture of Sarah and her yoga class friends?”

“A picture of Beth Davenport,” Sherlock grumbled, “haven’t quite confirmed her involvement just yet.”

John put the picture back down and made sure to place it exactly where he found it, in case that was of importance to his flatmate.

“She had reason to be in the park, though. And I remember you saying something about, eh… ah, heart attacks simply being the way of life, nothing suspicious, blah blah blah…”

“Well, that’s before all this happened.” That sentence was accompanied by a swooping arm gesture, indicating the multitude of clippings spread out on the floor. The detective kept silent for a moment to take it all in, while his friend went to retrieve the cup that had been carelessly flung just minutes ago.

“The other factors – I can’t explain it, John. Something just doesn’t add up.”

“Fine by me.” John shrugged, now bringing the empty cups back to the kitchen before he grabbed his stuff and went to the doorway. “Well, good luck with the rest of your research, I’ll be off now. Work.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock had already picked up the clipboard again and was having another look at his carefully penned down findings. “Do let me know if one of your patients suddenly dies of a heart attack.”

The doctor flashed a grin. “Will do.”

“Oh, and John?”

“Hmm?”

Sherlock now looked up at the man who was standing by the door, waiting for permission to leave.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention any details of this on your blog. It should be fine to tell others that I’m currently busying myself with a new, slightly more challenging mystery, but if this turns out to be an enigma as serious as I think it might be… well, let’s agree to stay safe. Just in case. Which is also why I’d prefer it if you’d remove any pictures of your face from that blog. You never uploaded any picture of me, right?”

John shook his head.

“Good. It’s just a precaution, but I’d still appreciate it if you could remove any images of yourself asap. I’d ask you to do it now, but with your general lack of computer skilfulness and the abundance of traffic due to the recent increase in roadworks near the more popular highways – I suggest you ‘d better leave now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi, twelve is not a random number. I tested it. Took me twelve big gulps to down the biggest mug of water I could get my hands on.
> 
> Shorter than usual, I knowww. Might have something to do with the new angsty yearning fic I've started. But then again, the Death Note chapters tend to be short and numerous as well, so perhaps this is a fitting way to design my storyline.
> 
> Perhaps I should explain something about Sherlock’s past involvement in solving cases for the Yard. Those who have read Death Note know that L is a more reclusive character, keeping his identity well hidden from anyone except Watari. The John/Sherlock relationship is the same here. A crazy genius and the man who takes care of him. Sherlock is now only dealing with cases “less than a seven”, which don’t require him to leave the flat. John still blogs about the cases, though no real-life friends keep track of his adventures. All they know is he lives with some unemployed weirdo who barely ever leaves the house.

**Author's Note:**

> Thought about naming this The Adventure Of The Notebook Murders, which would be a fitting, canon-like title... but Case seems more serious, doesn't it? Idk, might change it, feel free to share your opinion.
> 
> Britpic, beta'ing and concrit always welcome.
> 
> The rating symbols might change over time.
> 
> Disclaimer: obviously, Death Note isn't my invention, and Sherlock isn't either. Might use some quotes from the books, tv series or manga without explicitly mentioning I didn't come up with that myself, so don't shoot me if I do.  
> This first post is all DN-material, really. But it sets the mood.


End file.
